


stay with me, blood, you don't need to run

by KLTurner



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Boris Pavlikovsky Goes to New York, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, boreo, i haven't written prose in many months, the boys are gay and dumb especially boris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21770359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KLTurner/pseuds/KLTurner
Summary: Boris can't handle the weight of guilt and realizations that press down on him and so he follows Theo to New York with no plan or prospects. It's just him, his feelings and search for redemption. Takes place right after Theo's departure. Contains mild language.
Relationships: Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 3
Kudos: 93





	stay with me, blood, you don't need to run

The desert. Hot and dry, cold and misty at the same time. The sand that bothers him when he least needs it, and winds that sweep him off his feet, the sun glaring down at him like God, judging him silently. The desert knows something he doesn’t, it whispers things that neither of them remember, secrets lost once said out loud, drunk or high in the witching hours of the night. Months they spent together piling up day by day, second by second, materializing into tiny grains of sand that go unnoticed one by one but together build the limitless landscape of Vegas, Nevada: every 3am parking lot, every empty gas station, school during break, abandoned grocery store. They say, water has memory, and if it’s true, this pool they just passed must be reeling with memories of touch, whisper, breath, a lingering look. All the things he can’t remember now that his attention is intertwined with every movement of Theo’s, every word he says, every little twitch, while simultaneously catching nothing at all. Why are the lights on? What is Xandra saying? He doesn’t know but his friend’s face is so funny to look at. Or maybe it just makes him happy. He doesn’t know or care, for that matter, so he laughs. And Theo laughs too, and that makes him even happier because this silly Potter boy is his best friend in the entire world and there is nothing he would rather do than get stuck in this eternal, thick liquid of a moment, just looking at him and laughing. Xandra says something again, and something is happening now but he is not quite sure. He follows Theo upstairs, his mind still incoherent and vision fogged like a dusty VHS tape, and then it strikes, almost sobering him up, or rather making him sick. His hot and dry throat, cold hands and misty eyes as Theo says, “I have no one here”. He is caught off guard, and then there they are, outside and waiting for the taxi. His mind clears up.

There was a boy with awkward round glasses who wore a sweater that smelled like women’s perfume. He was small but full of secrets and love and strength he couldn’t even begin to give himself credit for, and for the first time in his life Boris felt intrigued to enter someone else’s world. And like the water in a pool, secrets spill out when you enter past the surface. There was also an explosion, a blow, a sensation so similar to the rush of white bubbles beneath right after the boys jump into the pool stumbling over each other at the bottom, it makes Theo’s breath hitch. There was also an old man with a ring. A ginger girl (not that he cared). There was a secret that to him, Boris, was no secret at all: that the boy missed his mother and saw her in his sleep, and it wasn’t a secret because he thought that he could see her too, every time they shared a bed and Theo would shake and cry and wake up randomly, as if being pushed off a cliff but falling not into the water or the suffocating dust, but into the safety of his friend’s arms. Boris had never met anyone quite as caring and thoughtful and loving as this boy who had lost everything that made his life worth living. Yet somehow he became the only thing that made Boris not regret being born, and there was nothing he wanted more than for Theo to look back at him and read it in his eyes. And there was a secret that Theo won’t remember sharing but Boris could never forget. There was a painting of a tiny bird that could try to fly but was bound to its place, just like the boy himself. And that painting was the most precious thing for him in the whole world because all of his other secrets and thoughts were tied to it and wrapped around it like old newspaper he used to hide it. He knew that Theo believed he was safe with the painting hidden in the depth of his tiny suitcase. But Boris had secrets too.

A look, a touch, a lingering sensation of something missing. An unfamiliar longing that he doesn’t know the name for, but maybe it’s just his poor english. Theo would know the word, right? because he is a smart guy. But never smart enough to figure out what Boris was trying to say, when they were laying next to each other by the pool and he asked about secrets. Or when they were smoking in his room and Theo never looked back at him. Or the many times when they were clearly too close, no matter if it was on a school bus or out in town or in the abandon of the many sleepless nights they shared. He was sad Theo never figured it out and fearful that he did and left his feelings on “read”. Frustrated and reassured by their language barrier when he would run his mouth in his sleep, “Не уходи, Поттер, ты мне нужен. Я рядом, обещаю, только не уходи”(1). And fear was what drove him to express his feelings more to himself than to the boy, with an act of impatience. All he wanted was, to have Theo to himself, to bind him down in selfish but innocent fear of abandonment, or to keep a piece of him whenever they would part. So he took what he thought to be the center of Theo’s very soul: the painting he kept hidden in his room and in his heart. Hidden from everyone but Boris, who himself wasn’t smart enough to realize the significance of the secret Theo shared with him. And so this tragic misunderstanding glared down at him, as if the inescapable judging sun had managed to defy the laws of nature and has come to burn him that night. The time was running out, and his mind was still buzzing and fizzy like a glass of soda. Theo refused to comply, and for a fleeting minute Boris contemplated telling him about the painting, but then his Potter was stumbling back to the car, begging him to go with him. But he couldn’t. This time, it was him chained to his place by a fragment of his first love’s heavy soul that he was selfish enough to take. He almost missed it when teary-eyed Theo made him promise to come to New York and find him, but he couldn’t even begin to entertain that idea yet. The possibility couldn’t make its way into his realm of consciousness through all the pain, panic and frustration. He knew he had to come up with a better plan, that wouldn’t involve being hated by the only person he ever loved for the rest of his life.

Then there was a wave of feelings, hitting him in the back of his head, spelling out the word he had been looking for. Gravity dragging him through his own doubt towards Theo. The smell of chlorine. The tears finally spilling over the brink of his eyelids. Emotions taking over when he least needs them. Holding the face he knew like the back of his hand and never wanted to let go. Sloppy and adrenaline-filled touch of their lips, shocking them both like a bolt of electricity, leaving a tingle on their faces and a scar on both their hearts. A farewell that, Boris believed, was enough to make Theo hate him already, building a ground to fall on once he discovers a piece of his soul missing and an old dirty textbook wrapped in the newspapers instead.

He watched the taxi cab disappear in the distance, taking the blood from his heart and hiding it beneath the horizon. Then, as if a curse had been lifted, he blinked back to life and bolted to his own house and made his way to his room like a ninja, careful not to wake his bad wolf of a father. Nothing he could think of at that moment was enough to fix the upcoming torture of guilt and regret and yearning, and although it hasn’t hit him fully yet, he could already feel it like a phantom pain in his chest. His head felt dizzy, and before he fell unconscious with a dreamless sleep, he felt infinite and unlimited, as if he was falling from a bridge and in the last seconds of his life felt as if he could fly. There was nothing to hold him back now.

The next morning, he threw a couple shirts and sweaters into a backpack, scavenged his father’s drawers for documents, concealed the painting with a thick scarf he stole from his trunk and ignored the pounding pain in his head and chest. Without really realizing what he was doing, he then left his house, leaving behind his umbrella, unafraid of the sun; believing, he was now better off burnt then recognized. Hiding in Xandra’s backyard, he waited for her to leave and then snuck in and filled his pockets with her jewelry, cash and cigarettes, before throwing a gulp of whiskey down his throat and running to the pawn shop at the end of the street. That’s where he knew his father sold his mother’s wedding ring, which bought him a weekend of drinking and a face full of bruises for his son. And that was where he threw most of what he had on the counter, everything but a pair of earrings that he saw Theo study once, unable to see how they were special, but figuring, it made sense to keep them. The clerk behind the window didn’t care for his documents and just threw him some cash. Then he called a taxi and followed his heart, that was currently in New York, most possibly in that antique shop he wouldn’t shut up about.

The scratchy sound of his old headphones plugged into a shatter-screened mp3 player filled his ears, as he watched the clouds pass behind the window. Boris knew it was risky and irresponsible to just run off like that, but it wasn’t like anyone would chase him. He wasn’t a stranger to the streets either, and he didn’t hope that Theo would take him in, he barely even hoped to find him, foolishly counting on the information he learned from the boy himself. The names he remembered like a prayer, as if he always knew he would have to run after him one day. And maybe if he isn’t late, he will find Theo in one of these people’s homes. And if he’s lucky enough, Theo will accept his apology and the painting, and what happens next didn’t bother him much. All he felt at that moment was a painful turn inside his chest, a clockwork mechanism of understanding springing to life. The memory of when he saw love as ownership turning inside him like a knife, making him feel sick with himself. Somewhere between losing Theo last night and following him now, he realized that it didn’t matter how hard you try to tie someone to yourself, they won’t love you. Love is not about stealing the key to another person’s heart or locking them down, it’s about not having to lock any of your hearts up. It’s not a secret to keep, but a gift to share. Boris felt like an idiot for not realizing earlier. Avril Lavigne’s voice knocked gently on the door of his hearing, almost bringing him back to reality but falling short, just enough to make him drop his guard and submit to the pressure of the feelings he’d been ignoring the entire day. He didn’t know if crying on an airplane was suspicious, so he was glad no one asked him any questions.

Rain caught him off guard. It was such a rare occurrence in Vegas, that he almost forgot what it felt like. Despite the sudden cold, he felt hot and buzzy with nerves, and the adrenaline almost made him dance in the rain, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked into the sky and thought about the sun, and how it couldn’t reach him here. And for the first time in forever, he felt sure of himself. Boris caught the nearest taxi he could find at the busy hour of 8 p.m., struggled out a mispronounced version of the antique shop name, followed by a correction from the disheveled taxi driver, and threw his bag and himself into the backseat. 

Finally sitting back and watching the city through the windows of a yellow taxi felt like releasing a long-held breath. Somehow, all of his insecurity has resolved under the warm glow of the flickering hope for redemption, and he found himself taking in the view. New York reminded him most of St Petersburg, Russia, with its eclectic architecture and historical sights, but the rain most of all. It almost didn't feel real, especially to the exhausted young runaway raised on old crime movies, who never thought he could become a part of such a surreal story himself. The streets ran by like scenery on old film, fogged over by the weather and darkened by the night creeping upon the city. As excited as Boris was to be in this whole new place, the exhaustion soon started to take over, so he only managed to faintly notice a hungry burn of stomach pain before passing out. He woke up after what felt like a three-minute nap, but quickly jolted back to full consciousness, grabbed his things, shoved a handful of dollar bills into the driver’s window and found himself in front of the store he only knew from Theo’s stories, but somehow imagined it to look exactly as it did in real life.

Boris carefully approached the building, almost tripping on the steps before entering, the door hitting a bell that announced his arrival. The smell of old wood and fresh wax welcomed him inside, feeling like a hot cup of tea with honey. It struck him then, that what he thought to be a smell of perfume on Theo’s clothes was actually this scent of woodwork and time, and it almost brought tears to his eyes, but not quite. There was a goal to accomplish after all. An old tired-looking black man, who seemed to blend in with the background, sat behind the counter, examining what looked like an old antique box. Suddenly, he felt timid, as the warm and stale air of the store allowed his mind to slow down and the panic and overthinking to resurface. He cleared his throat self-consciously and addressed the man.

“Hello. I’m looking for Theodore Decker,” - the old man’s face wrinkled with interest, almost suspicion, - “I was told to find him here.”

He watched the man put away the subject of his previous work and lean forward.

“Hello. And who are you supposed to be, young man?”, he asked, borderline playful, as if testing him. Boris smoothed a strand of still-wet hair out of his face and straightened his posture.

“My name is Boris. I’m Theo’s friend from Vegas, promised to find him here.”

The man’s face softened with a knowing smile, and Boris felt relief wash over him, followed by a slight wave of embarrassment, when he heard “He told me about you. The russian kid, right?” and heard his voice crack, shyly correcting him - “Ukrainian.” He stood there as the man, who turned out to be the store owner and introduced himself as mister Hobart, left the counter and went to shake his hand. Boris shook it back, still absorbing the thought of being spoken of in this fancy establishment. He figured, Theo really meant it when he asked him to come to New York, after all.

“We didn’t expect you this soon. Big rush, huh?” Hobart smiled, ushering him to the back of the shop, through a darkened corridor and to a door that was all but shut, spilling a streak of warm light by their feet. A silver lining of a sunrise after a stormy night.

“Unfinished business,” Boris nodded.

The door swung open softly, following a short knock of the older man’s fist, and there they were.

“We have a guest, Theo,” Hobart said, letting the slightly shivering boy in, and suddenly Boris almost couldn’t believe where he was and what he was doing, as if the sense of reality has left him. It probably has, knowing the surreal situation he found himself in. Popchyk was the first to react, jumping up immediately and attacking Boris with dog kisses and high-pitched borks of pure happiness, and he realized, that even though it has barely been a day since they had parted, he missed this dirty-white bugger full of love almost as much as he missed Theo. His Potter boy was sitting by a desk, reading, and as soon as his dog barking snapped him back to reality and Boris saw daze shift to recognition in his eyes, he felt tears swelling up again. Gravity between the two dragging them towards each other, the sensation of tingling, like hundreds of tiny bubbles on their skin, as they sink into each other’s arms. Trying his hardest not to cry, Boris wonders why it feels like he belongs here. Like this exact moment is his home, and why he wants it to last forever. It’s like they hadn’t parted at all, like there hadn’t been a single second since the last time he held Theo. He wondered why it felt like that, and it swept him off his feet that he knew all along.

“Пиздец, Тео. Твою мать,” his voice cracked, but he didn’t care, a hot tear escaping down his cheek. He hoped, he could pass it off as stray rain water from his wet hair. “C ума сойти, чувак, что за нахуй?”(2)

His ramblings made no sense, and he didn’t intend them to. Hobart has left them, probably hearing a bell ring in the main room of the store. Boris was so overwhelmed, he almost forgot what he was doing here.

“You found me! I had no idea you would come,” Theo leaned away from him, small hands clinging to Boris’ arms, eyes shocked and watery, yet face glowing with a big smile.

“I mean, I promised, yes?”

“I didn’t hope you meant it!”

Boris sniffed and smiled too. They were still too close, looking into each other’s eyes as if they didn’t have each other’s faces tattooed on their very souls, impossible to forget. The silence dragged on, unnoticed by the two boys. A calm warmth of a summer night, unbothered by even the slightest wind, but holding a hurricane tamed underneath the quiet. Theo shifted slightly, seemingly leaning closer and that’s when it dawned on Boris that he still is very much about to earn his friend’s lifelong detest. Their dog squeaked and backed off to its makeshift bed, as if sensing an impending conflict.

“I have an important confession to tell you.”

“That’s not how-”

“Shut up. I stole your painting.”

Popper hid his head in his paws, as if refusing to watch the scene. Theo automatically slapped a hand over Boris’ mouth, panicked, pushing him further away from the door.

“What are you talking about?” He was whisper-yelling now, painfully grasping at Boris’ arm.

“God, no way. You don’t even remember telling me?” He shook his head in disbelief, nervous laugh escaping his strained throat. He was not ready for this turn of events.

"You are lying!" Theo snapped in horror, his eyes involuntarily travelling to somewhere near his bed. Boris sniffed and shook his head.

"I wish I was. I wrapped an old textbook in newspaper and hid it behind your cabinet instead, hoping you won't find out and that's how it was."

His friend shakes his head unbelievingly. In his gaze, Boris can practically see boy's heart break. It reflects his own. Memories flood his mind. it strikes him, that it only makes sense for Theo not to remember: they might have had been too intoxicated that night after all. He might be the only one to remember the foggy sight of TV playing a cop movie on a thrifted VHS player and the way his shirt looked too big on Theo and the heat in his cheeks. Yelling in russian or even a gibberish mix of slavic languages just to piss him off. Play-fighting to initiate tactile contact. Chilly air of a november night. Pool water swarming with secrets that drowned in it once spoken.

"It was Thanksgiving night. You were high out of your mind and you told me about it," he whispered loud enough for only Theo to hear. "I did a dumb thing, it really was. You told me how it made you feel and how you held on to it and I took it because..."

He stumbled over his words, not trusting himself to say it out loud. Theo looked the quiet kind of angry. Boris hesitated, words caught in his throat and once again threatening to spill out of his eyes if he dared to look up at his friend.

"Because what? I can't believe you did- I can't believe you took advantage of me like that," he said quietly, letting go of his arm. Boris felt as if his soul was a tower and right then it was crashing down all around him, while also burning. And he swore he could smell gasoline on his hands. Theo looked away, frowning, then shot a questioning glance back at him, when he saw Boris swing his backpack from his shoulder. He set it down on the floor and knelt beside it, reaching inside carefully. Theo's eyes widened and he fell to his knees too, eager to confirm his sudden realization of what was in the bag. Boris took a shaky breath, finally holding out a bundle wrapped in a long thick woolen scarf. He pushed it towards Theo, only looking up at him when the package was safely in the boy's arms as he hugged it to his chest.

"I'm really sorry, Potter. I should have never done this. I thought- For a moment I thought that if I had it, you would hold on to me too, but it's bullshit," he felt his throat restrict with tears he'd been holding back.He didn't care that much anymore, he just had to let Potter know how he felt. "I can't try to keep you with me against your choice. I'm sorry I'm such an idiot."

With a stunned expression, Theo stood up, walked over to his bed and fished out a bright yellow bag. He unzipped it, turned it upside down and discarded the wrapped apparent fake that fell out, then placed the bundle inside carefully and pushed it all back deep under the bed. Boris zipped his own bag closed and stood up too, thinking if he should leave now or wait until Theo beats him up or something. He watched the boy sit down on the bed and met his eyes, once he looked up.

"You really are an idiot."

Boris didn't respond, head hung in shame.

"I will have a hard time forgiving you for this."

He nodded, deciding not to say that he didn't really hope for forgiveness.

"Also, I don't understand why you would think you have to do anything extra to make me stay," he said quieter, and Boris thought he imagined it for a second, so he looked up and found Theo still frowning and frustrated but with a somewhat softer look to him. "I kinda thought we had it figured out. What about when you kissed me out in the street and I made you promise to find me?"

"I thought you hated me after that, honestly." He was just as confused at this point, and also extremely embarrassed. He didn’t think Theo would discuss it out loud, but, he guessed, that was just his life now.

"And why the fuck would I do that? You are a dumbass, Boris, oh my god," Theo slapped both of his hands against his own face, and Boris could see that it was completely red, which made something click in his mind. But it couldn't possibly be true...

"Wait. What do you-"

"I could never hate you, dipshit. Or leave you, if it wasn’t an emergency. You are my best friend, in case you forgot," he was rambling now, and Boris' senses told him they were approaching something big in this conversation, but it felt like standing in front of a door in pitch darkness. Theo looked up at him, meanwhile, not waiting for an answer. "Also, I thought you knew by now but I guess I'll have to say it. Just so we're clear, I love you."

"Какого- Are you serious?(3)" Boris stepped closer to him, still cautiously, in case he was failing horribly at reading people's reactions and was really about to get punched in the face. His face was so hot, he felt feverish, with heart beating rapidly, like bass in his ears. Theo, however, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, laughing nervously and still blushing.

“Yeah. I really do. And I thought that you knew, somehow, that’s why I didn’t say it out loud.”

Boris felt lightheaded, as if he was on drugs and hallucinating. Maybe he was, he didn’t really know or care, for that matter. He took a few more steps and sat hesitantly down next to Theo, who immediately intuitively shuffled closer. Then he rubbed his eyes, realising they were wet and probably also very red, but it only added to the embarrassment he was already burning in.

“I love you too,” he said quietly, unable to hold back a smile. Their hands brushed, but he wasn’t feeling brave enough to do anything about it.

“That much I figured,” Theo remarked, making them both snort with laughter. It felt light, in both the sense of a heavy weight being lifted off his shoulders, and the sense of the darkness stepping back from around them. Boris sniffed again and looked at the boy’s face when their hands found each other either way. 

Quiet snores of Popchyk sleeping in the corner. The feeling of having your head empty but heart full. Warm light from the table lamp enveloping them. The calmness of stale air and the smell of books. Hot tea in the kitchen, talking about how New York feels like a movie and how his father sold his mom’s ring. Informing mister Hobart that Boris will be staying, and promising to find a job as soon as he can. Giving back the pair of earrings he kept. Soft blanket handed to him by Theo and soft kisses pressed to the back of Theo’s neck, sharing a bed again. Sharing the blanket anyway and sharing the warmth of being in each other’s arms. The sound of raindrops hitting the window. The feeling that the future is not hopeless after all, as long as there is love to be shared and redemption to be reached. The peaceful sleep after what seems like years of no rest. The intertwining of limbs. Quiet breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> (1) "Don't go, Potter, I need you. I'm with you, I promise, just please don't leave."  
> (2) "Fuck it, Theo. Holy shit. This is crazy, dude, what the fuck?"  
> (3) "What the- Are you serious?"


End file.
